


Incendiary

by Farmulousa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coworkers - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Gratuitous Smut, Idiots in Love, Infidelity (NOT Dramione), Multiple Orgasms, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Workplace Sex, office smut, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa
Summary: incendiary[in-sen-dee-er-ee]adjectiveused or adapted for setting property on fire:of or relating to the criminal setting on fire of property.tending to arouse strife, sedition, etc.; inflammatory:tending to inflame the senses:-He was on her so quickly she wondered if he had apparated the short distance between them. His lips covered her and his hands went straight for her hair. She felt her heart in every part of her body but mostly in her fingertips where she grabbed at the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him tight to her. His tongue swiped across the seam of her lips and she gladly let him access.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, past Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass, past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 27
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge HUGE thank you to the alpha & beta Dramione Dream Team that is [weestarmeggie](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie) & [raven_maiden](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/raven_maiden/pseuds/raven_maiden).

These functions were intolerable. Awful, really. Wizards and witches, out to make sure they had the influence and celebrity that they wanted, having their picture taken with absolutely the right sort of people. Draco’s father would have loved it. He could remember, as a child, he would be put into a perfect miniature set of robes, his hair would be styled in exactly Lucius’ style and his mother would make sure to introduce him to the wives of all the important politicians. Draco had adored it simply because they had all adored him. 

Now he wasn’t even twenty-five and he was already disillusioned with the whole farce. It might have been because it was his job to be there. It might have been because he hated pandering, the thing his father had enjoyed the most. Whatever the reason, the yearly Ministry Christmas Party was the last place Draco wanted to be. 

There had been a memo, which had arrived on his desk folded into a crane, that had been very clear; the whole Ministerial Staff were expected to attend the Christmas Party. There had been murmurs of Percy Weasley making a bid for Minister in the new year. He had resigned from his position as the Upper Secretary to the Minister at the end of November, claiming that he wanted some experience in the Education Department. Everyone knew he was up to something though. According to Potter, at Percy’s birthday dinner with his family, he had been dropping hints of an exciting new chapter in his life. 

Draco had scoffed when Potter had arrived in Granger’s office during their briefing for a Wizengamot Hearing. Potter was always arriving unannounced at her office, as if the Boy-Who-Lived had some sort of priority on her time. The worst thing was she let him! Potter would knock on her door and just waltz in. What if the conversations they were having were classified? Draco’s shoulders bristled slightly at the memory. But he wouldn’t let Potter’s lack of manners and decorum make this already dismal night fall further into despair. 

He noticed a golden blonde head make a beeline for him across the atrium and smiled to himself. Astoria looked impeccable as always: the woman had been trained to look beautiful at functions like this her entire life, and she put that training to incredible use. Her hair was poker straight, pulled away from her face with a pale blue velvet headband that perfectly suited her complexion and was almost exactly the same colour as her eyes. What make up or glamour she had on was essentially undetectable but her skin was perfect, glowing. Her lashes were sooty and fluttering as she smiled at him. 

“Ms. Greengrass, you look delightful as always,” he drawled, as he bent to kiss her hand. Astoria rolled her eyes so quickly that anyone not looking directly at her wouldn’t have noticed it. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you this year.” 

“Draco, you know you can call me by my first name.” She sighed and came closer to kiss his cheek and brush away the nonexistent lint on the lapel of his suit jacket. “We were married for five years, after all. You don’t need to be so formal.” 

He smiled. She had a way of being direct without ever completely throwing off the manners of her upbringing. She waited for him to hold out his hand for a dance, as she must have known he would, since they would be unable to talk to each other for very long without attracting looks or whispers if they did not at least take a turn around the room. Their divorce had been but a whisper. There had been nothing in the Prophet or Lovegood’s rag, but somehow all of Wizarding Britain still talked about the Malfoys for quite some time. He had heard the whispers when he’d walked from his office to have a meeting with another department, or when he’d arrive at the entrance to the floos at the end of the days. 

Offering Astoria his elbow, he glided with her to where people were dancing next to the fountain. She looked like an Ice Queen; her pale blue silk gown was cut precisely to her body. He would have bet she had custom ordered it, but she would never admit that out loud. The neckline went from shoulder to shoulder with a cap sleeve, removing the need for a necklace. Instead, she wore large diamond drop earrings that had been a gift from his mother a few years back. She was the perfect society woman-- even with a divorce on her record, it was clear she was absolutely the most admired woman in the room. What a pity that Draco had never been interested in her as a partner in the slightest. What a shame that Draco had never found her pristine beauty alluring in the way a husband should. 

How awful that she had fallen in love with his best friend. 

“I must congratulate you on your engagement, Astoria,” he murmured, carefully placing his finger over the ring disillusioned on the finger the Malfoy diamond had once sat. The blush that skirted the edges of her cheekbones was demure, as if her parents had managed to teach her blood vessels how to abide by their standards. 

“Yes, well. Blaise was insistent. Such a romantic.” She rolled her eyes, as if it were absolutely the worst thing a man could be. But it was also the reason that she had fallen at the man’s feet in the first place. “He’s finding it difficult to wait these last few months.” 

Blaise Zabini and Astoria Greengrass, formally Malfoy, would be announcing their engagement six months and three days after the papers were filed on Draco and Astoria’s own divorce. Draco had found it difficult to care when they announced, but Astoria had insisted that these things were agreed upon and written into their divorce papers. She was her father’s daughter and didn’t do anything without it in writing. That is, except for letting his childhood friend go down on her in the Malfoy Manor wine cellar. Draco had known that he’d lost his wife when she’d broken her own rules for another man. 

“ _You’ve_ waited a long time though, Draco.” She smirked at him as he picked up the pace to keep up with the waltz that had begun to play. He peered down at her, carefully holding his features in a way that used to stop her from pushing her point. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brought her around with him to circle the room. He knew they looked incredible together. It had been part of the reason she had been chosen for him. They had been mean to make incredible looking children together with his sharp lines and her ethereal beauty. Draco’s mother had been distraught at the idea of divorce for precisely that reason: not that she was losing a daughter-in-law or that her son may be heartbroken, but that those grandchildren would never exist. 

“Oh Draco, don’t be coy.” She was starting to look irritatingly smug. The laughter in her eyes as she straightened her body slightly was too much. 

“Would you like a glass of Champagne?” he asked, slowly bringing them to a halt next to the edge of the dancing. He could no longer look her in the eye. There was something to be said about never speaking to your unfaithful ex-wife and hating the friend that took her from you, but Draco could never bring himself to do either and only Astoria knew why. 

“Don’t be a spoilsport. You know she’s been available for months now.” Astoria looped her arm around his, and although it may have looked like he was leading her towards the refreshments, she was steering him over to her fiance while he regained his composure. He hated it when she saw through him, even though he’d seen it coming. He always had. 

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had announced their divorce as quietly as two famous war heroes could. They had filed their papers almost four months ago now, and the next day she hadn’t been able to come into the office due to the press’ presence at the floos. Kingsley had asked him to take her the paperwork she’d need while working from home for the rest of the week. His blood had boiled at the thought of someone from the Department of Records betraying Granger’s personal privacy in that way. He had flooed to Grimmauld Place, her temporary residence, and found her pacing the kitchen. 

She had grabbed her papers from his hand with a _finally!_ that he hadn’t been expecting. He hadn’t missed the Prophet that morning: the Weasley’s divorce took up the first five pages of the paper, complete with a timeline of their entire relationship and a whole half-page dedicated to guessing when the two had fallen out of love. She hadn’t been heartbroken then-- she’d been irritated and impatient. And he hadn’t seen her be visibly sad since. After the drama had died down, she had arrived at work as normal. She had worked too hard, laughed too loudly, and irritated him with almost everything she said and did - it was normal. 

Only that was the problem. Before, she had been his married colleague. They had both gone back to Hogwarts to gain their NEWTs but had basically avoided each other the entire time, an unspoken truce taking place as they studied and socialised completely separately. When they had both turned up for work in the Communications Department of the Ministry, they had both worked their way up from sorting through memos to working in the Ministerial Offices. Draco had been offered a role in the Policy Office, as he had a knack for strategy and making people listen to reason, and he used both to make sure that the Minister was only putting his weight behind the issues that truly mattered. Granger had become a Junior Advisor, but was essentially Shacklebolt’s right-hand. If anything, Draco would guarantee that the memo that had told him to attend this awful party was written by her.

There was no one the Minister trusted more than Granger: there was nothing he wouldn’t do if she thought it was a good idea to do so. She would stay in her office, people coming and going from her door in hushed tones as if she were an Oracle, which she might as well be. Draco would sit in meetings where she’d go on and on about this or that, and the worst thing was that no matter what she droned on about, she was always right. 

“Hello?” Blaise Zabini’s deep voice sliced through his thoughts. “Earth to Draco?” 

“Sorry.” Draco shook his head a little to clear his mind. This was all Astoria’s fault for bringing up Granger. “Zabini. I hear congratulations are in order.”

The wide smile that split Blaise Zabini’s features in half was blinding. He had always been the positive sort, someone who it was hard to snap out of a good mood no matter how hard Draco would try. He had been the brightest spark amongst their school friends, always joking or chatting about something or other. Draco had been told by many girls from Hogwarts that Blaise was often thought of as the most attractive boy in their year. Draco couldn’t speak to that, but in practice, Blaise had stolen the heart of every woman he ever even glanced at, so maybe there was something to it. 

“I was just saying,” Astoria said, beaming at her fiance, “that Granger looks awfully pretty tonight.” 

The glint in his ex-wife's eye was deadly. It was clear to him that she hadn’t told her new love about the confession he had made to her the night they had gotten drunk and she had told him about her indiscretions with Blaise. 

Astoria was as composed drunk as she was sober, but her lips were loose, to say the least. She had gone over in graphic detail every time she had even touched Blaise’s hand and what Blaise’s hands had done to her. She had even let a tear slip over the edge of her lids as she spoke about how much she loved him, about how awful she had felt keeping it from him. 

Draco, however, was a messy drunk. 

He had been angry at first, before realising he was angry out of principle only. He hadn’t felt betrayed, he hadn’t felt heartbroken. When Astoria had finished her speech, Draco had confessed that he had been thinking more and more about Granger, and that he believed himself to be in love with her. That he knew she would never feel the same for him, she was married and his colleague. They had begun to form a friendship at work, had had lunch together. Embarrassingly enough, Draco seemed to remember talking about Granger’s eyes. 

“I haven’t seen her,” Blaise replied, giving him a strange look. “She often disappears at these things once the speeches are over. Have you seen her?”

“Why on _earth_ would I have seen Granger?” Draco snapped, maybe a little louder than polite conversation called for, because some eyes nearby had flickered to them. 

“I’m just making conversation, Draco.” Astoria smiled even wider and took a sip from the champagne flute that had made its way to her hand. She looked away from both of them, but he saw the flash of something dangerous in her, and followed her line of sight to see what she had knowingly brought his attention to. 

Hermione Granger didn’t look _pretty._ She looked incendiary.

Every person around her seemed to melt away from the heat coming off her in waves. Her hair was big, the least demure thing he had ever seen. Huge chocolate curls seemed to orbit around her. Never fully coming to a rest as she gesticulated wildly, talking to a Ministry Aid who flinched a little every time one of Granger’s hands quickly moved. Why anyone would want to get further away from her, he would never know. If she accidentally hit him he would say thank you and present the other cheek. 

She turned a little to ask someone a question, and light glittered off of her exposed shoulders. The deep red velvet of her dress clung to her torso in a way that allowed it to be strapless but still decent enough for a work function. But from this angle, Draco could see the curve of her breasts that sat high, with a solitaire ruby necklace nestled between them. 

“Oh yes,” Blaise commented behind him. “She has scrubbed up well. The meeting I was in with her last week, she looked like someone had thrown her across a room.” 

Draco had been in that meeting as well. Granger had been incredibly stressed due to a funding issue. Draco had tried to do as much damage control as he could but they had both been at work since five that morning trying to fix the issue. When she was stressed she would put her fingers into her hair and run through them from root to tip. It had the effect of making her look as though she’d been hit with a static jinx, but all Draco could focus on through that meeting was the blush in her cheeks. 

“Why don’t you take her a drink, Draco?” Astoria asked, putting another flute of champagne in his hand. He found it somewhere within himself to sneer at her, but all she did was giggle and turn back to her fiance. Draco scowled. There was a time he could bring anyone down with a look. 

Walking away from Astoria and her smug expression, Draco downed one of the flutes of champagne in his glass and looked one more time over to Granger. She was laughing at something Potter was saying, and his eyes clung to the line of her neck as she physically bent backward. She was loud, over the top, irritating, and _passionate,_ and Draco would never be good enough for her. 

  
  
  
  


Hermione couldn’t stand it in these shoes any longer. She _hated_ this party, hated that she was forced to attend and that she was responsible for forcing others to attend too. Kingsley had been concerned that not all the staff would come. Last year only half the Ministerial Staff had attended, and he believed that that was when Percy had decided to jump ship in favour of his own campaign for Minister. Hermione knew there were rumours. She had chastised Harry only that past week for gossiping with Malfoy about what Percy had revealed at The Burrow recently. 

Of course, Hermione knew that Percy was going for the Minister’s job. She knew because he had asked her to go with him. Percy was a very bright man: he was the youngest Head of Education in Wizarding history. But observant he was not. He was only twenty-eight, very impressive for a head of a department, but basically unheard of for a bid for Minister. He also obviously didn’t know Hermione at all. They had been working together for nearly five years and sat together in meetings about the state of Wizarding Britain more times than she could count, and he still thought she would simply jump ship simply because he _might_ offer her a higher position if he were to manage the insurmountable task of taking a war hero out of office. 

Walking down the corridor to her office, having escaped the groups of people wishing her well and wanting to shake her hand, she breathed a sigh of relief that not one person that evening had asked about Ron. This was the first Ministry Christmas Party that she had attended without him. Although a few photographers had asked her about his whereabouts when she had arrived at the Ministry entrance, there was no press allowed at the party, and everyone inside had been decidedly discrete. Even Astoria Greengrass, society’s darling and not exactly Hermione’s biggest fan, had asked after her health and nothing more. The woman seemed to have been bouncing back from her own marital issues if the besotted look on Balise Zabini’s face was anything to go by. 

Both Slytherins had smiled at her in a way that made her feel like they knew something she didn’t. But then she often felt that way around their housemates, especially the one from her office. 

Draco Malfoy had been basically invisible that evening. She had looked out for him a couple of times. He wasn’t one to miss the Christmas Party, and she knew he’d attended as Harry had mentioned him on their way in, but she had yet to see him in the flesh. She told herself that she was looking for him to make sure he had attended, as Kingsley had said that he would need to speak with those who hadn’t on Monday morning. But Hermione knew she was looking for him because she wanted to see how handsome he would look in dress robes. She was looking to see if he had worn the same black outfit from last year, the one that hung off his broad shoulders with drama and had followed the lines of his arse to perfection when he had removed his cloak. 

She knew, when Ron had asked her for a divorce, that resisting a newly single Malfoy would be her main priority. That her long time infatuation with her colleague would need to be reigned in now that she would be allowed to _do_ something about it. 

It was unsurprising that Ron had wanted a divorce. She was hardly ever at home and she cared too much about her job and the projects she supported as a part of it. She would spend upwards of fourteen hours a day at work, and when she got home she would read bills and project outlines in bed. They hadn’t had sex in nearly a year, and on top of all that she knew he had been having sex with one of the secretaries from the Auror office for at least three months. Maybe it had been cowardly to wait for him to admit it, but she simply hadn’t had time, and if anything was a sign that her marriage was over, it was that she was too busy with work to tell him so.

Coming to her door, she unlocked it and stepped inside. She had only been in here a few hours ago, but it already felt like forever. She missed work when she wasn’t here, and she often felt like the room missed her. Especially her sofa-- she felt that her sofa must miss her most of all. It sat against the wall furthest from the door, its cream woolen cover the perfect level of comfort. She would nap here sometimes when pulling all nighters, and it was always some of the best sleep she’d ever had. 

She sat at her desk and looked over the parchments she had prepared for Monday morning. They were organised in order of priority and sat under a charm of her own devising. The cleaning staff often put her parchments on her shelves, and so she had to come up with measures to avoid tampering with her organisational system. 

Just then, the lights went out. In theory, Hermione knew that the lights went out on a Friday night and didn’t turn on until very early on Monday morning, but because Fridays were the nights that she would put aside for any personal reading or research at home, she would rarely be there to experience it. Silently summoning her wand from the hidden compartment in her dress, she whispered a soft _Lumos_ and made her way back to the main floor of the Minister’s offices. 

This section of the offices held a large open area with desks for the assistants and a large long table for staff meetings. It was usually lit overhead by sections of bright light, but now stood in total darkness except for the soft glow at the end of her wand and a light coming towards her from her left. 

She turned so quickly that her hair swung in front of her face and she wasn’t able to see who was approaching. 

“Granger?” Draco Malfoy’s soft voice came from behind the curtain of her hair, and she had to bat it away to see him clearly. He wasn’t wearing the same robes as last year. He looked better. He was wearing a muggle suit, and it was expensive, she could tell, but anything would look expensive on him. He exuded class and money, no matter how much the Ministry took in reparations from his family after the war. 

“Malfoy, sorry,” she stammered, looking away from him before her eyes were dragged back to his. “I thought I was alone.” 

He was on her so quickly she wondered if he had apparated the short distance between them. His lips covered her and his hands went straight for her hair. She felt her heart in every part of her body but mostly in her fingertips where she grabbed at the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him tight to her. His tongue swiped across the seam of her lips and she gladly let him access. 

“Wait,” he breathed heavily against her lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would you like to try something?” he whispered against her jaw. 
> 
> “Anything you want,” she breathed, taking herself by surprise in how true that felt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another gigantic thank you to [weestarmeggie](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie) & [raven_maiden](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/raven_maiden/pseuds/raven_maiden) for their magic alpha & beta skills. 

Hermione couldn't think of something she wanted to do less than wait but her brain slammed back into gear hard. 

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, taking a step back towards her office door. “This was completely inappropriate.” 

“I don’t know. I can think of a lot more inappropriate things to do.” His smile widened, and everything clicked in her brain. Draco Malfoy was drunk. Of course, he would need to be drunk to kiss her. He wouldn't have wanted to do so unless he was under the influence. 

“You’re drunk,” she said, her voice audibly falling. This wouldn’t do--, she needed to get herself together. She needed to sober Mafloy up so he would leave her alone to wallow in her dashed dreams. 

“Mm yes,” he muttered, looking very seriously at her neck and then back to her eyes. “Yes.” 

“Calista keeps sober-up in her desk.” Hermione took Draco by the wrist to where Calista Gordon, one of the office assistants who semi-regularly came into work half drunk from the night before, kept various potions needed in the bottom drawer on her desk. All it took was a quick  _ alohomora  _ from Hermione and she had sober-up and a pain potion ready to go. 

Giving them both to Draco, who thankfully swallowed them without any arguments, she closed the drawer and took a step back. She watched as Mafloy’s pupils became smaller and the softness of his features hardened to where they were most days that they spent in this office. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, placing a hand on her arm. The warmth from his palm invaded her skin so quickly she thought maybe it was a spell. The contact made her flush, and considering he had just kissed her to within an inch of her life in the middle of their office floor, she felt embarrassed as he clearly felt he needed to apologise for his mistake. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to happen like this.”

_ What? _

Hermione knew that her eyes had blown wide because Malfoy winced as it became clear what he had said. 

“I mean-”

“You don’t have to apologise, I know you wouldn’t have wanted to —do that —if you weren’t drunk. I’m sorry I distur—”

“Oh no Granger,” he interrupted her. His voice had changed to something dark. “I definitely want to kiss you.” He pulled his hand softly down the skin of her arm and she felt static along anywhere he touched. Holding her gaze, he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed her fingertips across his bottom lip. There was an easy intimacy in the way he did it that flooded her veins with heat. 

She exhaled, shaking. 

“You kissed me back,” he said, looking straight into her eyes, still pressing kisses into her fingers. 

“I did,” she rasped.

“Are you drunk?” He bent his head to suck at the pulse point of her wrist. 

“No,” she squeaked as her arm went floppy. She might have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t pulled her flush to his body. His mouth went to her neck and she felt his tongue and teeth work together to transfigure her into a puddle at his feet. 

“Do I need to do the charm?” he breathed into her ear. One of his hands had found the base of her neck and she couldn’t help but turn her head to the side and offer herself up to him. 

“No,” she whimpered. “The potion.” 

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. He walked her backwards towards the door of her office continuing to suck at the pulse point of her wrist. “I usually take the lead during sex, and I’m told that I can be a little authoritative.” 

“Oh.” She couldn’t come up with anything more eloquent than that because she had never really thought about it before, but Ron had always wanted her to make the rules. Always wanted her to do the work. Having sex with Ron had always felt like he wanted to switch from doing the job she was paid to do to do a job she would get no thanks for. She shook her head a little, getting her ex-husband out of her mind. “That's … fine.”

“If I’m too forceful or rough, let me know.” He nibbled his way up the inside of her forearm, stopping to give the scar given to her by his aunt a long, soft kiss. “Is there anything you don’t like?” 

“Oh um, how about we take that on a case by case basis.” When she looked up again, there was no space between their lips. He’d swooped in, cupping her jaw in his hands, leaning into the embrace he’d already created by pushing the back of her legs into the front of her desk. 

His lips were soft, gentle, and demanding at the same time. She opened her mouth, and he took the invitation, sliding his tongue against hers. She’d never really thought much about kissing, but clearly she hadn’t been kissing the right person. She’d had Ron go down on her and it didn’t turn her on as much as Draco Malfoy’s mouth on her’s. 

With a hand on each shoulder, she gave a small push back, just so she could get a breath. “You’re a very good kisser.”

“I have a very good partner,” he murmured against her lips before he claimed them again. 

He brought his hands up into her hair and pulled slightly at the roots. She moaned softly into his mouth. He couldn't seem to get enough of her hair because he ripped his mouth away and kissed his way across her cheekbones and breath in deeply next to her temple. 

“I love your hair. Come here, I want to feel it.” 

She didn’t have to ask where he wanted her because he switched their positions so he was sitting on her desk and lifted her like she was made of feathers. 

“Right there,” he whispered against her ear, guiding her legs apart with his knees so that she straddled his lap. He made a low sound in his throat as her hair fell around his shoulders. His fingers combed through her hair, bringing it forward to enclose them both like a canopy of willow branches. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

She pressed their mouths together again, and it was such a hungry deep kiss that she couldn’t breathe. When they pulled apart, she gasped, “That’s nice to hear.” 

“Would you like to try something?” he whispered against her jaw. 

“Anything you want,” she breathed, taking herself by surprise in how true that felt. “Tell me what to do, if you’re so authoritative.” She said the last word in her best impression of him. 

“Sit on your hands.” His voice was gruff and his face very serious as he issued the command, and heat shot through her. 

She straightened up a little on his lap, flipping her hair to one side. “Why?”

“Just do it.” He took her hands and guided them to her thighs. She slipped them under, trapping her fingers between her legs and his. “Good,” he murmured against her cheek. “Very good.” 

She didn’t see where his wand came from but he whispered some words she didn’t hear and her dress vanished. She held her breath as his fingers skimmed her thighs, over her stomach and to the dip of her waist. 

He pushed both hands up, covering her breasts and massaging them against her chest. Her nipples slid between his fingers, he pinched them just a little tighter. She squirmed; without the ability to explore his body, all of her attention focused directly on what he was making her feel. 

“I have a confession to make.” He whispered against the expanse of skin above her breasts. 

“Mhm?” She whimpered, unable to use her words let alone think of any. 

“I’ve wanted this for a really long time.” He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and she lifted her ribcage, arching towards him. He rolled the flesh between his teeth and swirled his tongue over her. His other hand imitated the motion, circling her nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. 

She rocked on her hands, wanting to bring them up to touch him, to grab his hair and pull him tighter to her. When he moved to the other side, she thought she might faint. 

“Hermione?” he whispered against her skin, the use of her given name shocking her back to her senses. “You need to remember to breathe.” 

“Mhm, yes.” She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding and relaxed her shoulders. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, too.” 

He looked at her in the eyes for longer than she found strictly comfortable. She had made eye contact with him countless times before, but suddenly the vulnerability and hope that shone in him made him difficult to look at, like the sun. 

He kissed between her breasts, pushing his face into the curve between them before laving the upper curves under her necklace. His mouth was all over her, as if he couldn’t decide what inch of her skin he should nibble or suck on next. 

“I want to touch you,” she moaned, her head dropped back in a delicious stretch. 

“All right, touch me,” he challenged, and when she tried to free her hands, he grabbed her arms. “No, not like that. You can touch me without using your hands.” 

She was surprised her grin didn’t light up the entire room. She leaned forward, which was a real trick in the position she was in. Still, she managed to find his neck with her teeth. 

“Nothing above the collar, I have a job to go to on Monday.” She couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about how she would feel when she saw him on Monday. Would she even be able to think? She snaked her tongue up, over the rough stubble on his jaw. Two kisses led her to his mouth. The backs of his fingers glided down her stomach, under the band of her knickers, and he encountered the soft curls on her mound. 

The tip of his middle finger slid over her clit, down her slit. He swirled a slow circle and she moaned. He dipped lower and found her opening to penetrate her slightly. Then, his hand withdrew to come up beside her face as she kissed him. He pulled back, and while keeping her eye contact, he slid his middle finger into his mouth with a soft groan. 

“Take these off.” He snapped the elastic of her knickers and she slipped from his lap, shaking her numb hands and knees before she pulled down her knickers to the floor. “Sit on the sofa.” 

Suddenly, it felt like hours since she’d first walked into her office. Her legs were unsteady as she stumbled over to the sofa and saw her dress, neatly folded at one end. The display of care and magic made everything twist tight in her abdomen. Her knees went weak. No one had ever spoken to her like this. She thought she should be disgusted, that she’d feel disrespected, but it had the exact opposite effect; she practically spilled herself on to the sofa for him. 

He knelt at her feet with a laugh and somehow he aligned himself perfectly, her thighs on either side of his head as he tugged her little roughly to the edge of the sofa cushion. His nose brushed her curls, and he inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a low growl. His tongue, flat and wide, slicked between her labia, over her clit, back and forth until her pelvis rocked, and she reached up to cup her breasts. She thought she might be getting close when he turned his attention lower, plunging his tongue into her. 

Her hopes fell a little. This was sex in her office with someone just getting over a sober-up potion, it wasn’t going to be  _ perfect _ . A lot of men didn’t understand how important repetition was. 

Then he returned to her clit, this time with a pointed tongue to flick back and forth over just the tip, and he did it again. He got her  _ right  _ there, then left her hanging on the precipice. She whined in disappointment before she could control herself. 

He kissed her clit but it throbbed through her whole body. Muffled between her thighs he snorted, “You do understand that I’m doing that on purpose?”

How did he manage to sound so smug and self-assured even with his lips against the top of her thighs and his pupils so dilated he looked like a demon. That moment reminded her that she was absolutely ready to fuck Draco Malfoy in her office and she was terrified and overwhelmingly thrilled. 

“You … why?” She sank her hands into his hair. The silver strands were soft as silk and she helped them tumble over his forehead, making him look deliciously dishevelled. She slid her cunt back and forth over his chin, his lips, his nose. 

“Because,” he said, holding her down and placing a small kiss to one side of the curls on her abdomen. “In just a minute, I’m going to make you come, and you’re going to stop thinking all your Granger thoughts, because you had to wait for it.” He closed his mouth over her clit and sucked, circling his tongue around and around. 

His confidence struck something inside her that pushed her very close to the edge incredibly fast. Her orgasm built and built, but never broke. She clung to the arm of the sofa next to her, digging her fingers into the fabric as she rode his face. “Oh my god!” She shouted, hoping that this time, this time, he would let her have the pleasure he’d promised. 

Then, she was there, spilling over the edge, her cunt so wet she was sure it had to be dripping down his face. 

“I really want to be inside you,” he gasped, like he was surfacing for air in an ocean. 

His hand travelled up her body, the scuff of the slightly rougher skin of his palm felt like bolts of electricity trailing over her skin. She felt as if she could come again just from his words. He kissed her stomach, leaving wet evidence of her need for him in splotches up her torso. 

“Don’t you want me to…” She found his hand on her neck and pulled it to her mouth, sucking his finger and letting it out with a soft pop. 

“Of course I do,” he groaned, moving his other hand between her legs. “But I want this more.” 

She couldn’t remember a time that Ron had ever performed a sex act on her where she wasn’t expected to reciprocate. Where she wasn’t required to do more for him than he’d done for her. She had always felt like she was being held to a score sheet of what she had earned from him. 

Draco Malfoy  _ wanted  _ her, he didn’t feel entitled. Nothing was expected. There was no script, no making sure he got everything from her that he could. It was such an overwhelming relief she thought she might cry. 

“I’m taking you home.” He told her as he took the dress from the sofa and shook it a little to let out the creases. He opened the zip and stood at her feet with the dress open for her to step into. “I want you in my bed.”

Hermione hesitated a little but carefully placed her feet into the garment, using his shoulders for support. He used the opportunity to touch every part of her that he could. She still had no knickers on and as he pulled her dress up over her hips, his fingers brushed over her slit where her still sensitive flesh ached for more of him. She shuddered and had to grip his neck as he continued to drag his hands over the velvet of her dress, her body in a way that felt more like foreplay than getting dressed. 

He moved behind her to zip her up, kissing along the edge of her neck and whispered. “Don’t worry, you won’t be in it for long.”

He was immediately in front of her and took her hand. He dragged her towards the Minister’s Floo, thankfully the only Floo in the building that never closed, and shouted an address she didn’t recognise. She was pulled again through a dark living room to a wide corridor that she saw nothing of before being flung into a bedroom. 

Just as quickly as he’d removed her from her dress with magic before, he unzipped her and pulled the velvet back over her body. The fly of his trousers brushed the back of her thighs, and his fingers trailed down her back, following the line of her spine to the curve of her arse. His thumb slipped between, skating down to press against her cunt, and she angled her hips back. 

“I can’t wait to get all of this—” he pushed his thumb further. “— around me.”

She straightened and turned, her fingers encountering the hard plane of his chest through his suit. She raked her fingernails over the fabric before pulling his clothes off with far less care than he’d shown her dress. She felt her impatience overwhelming her as he slowed her hands and took off his jacket, shirt, and tie at what felt like half the speed he should be. She gripped the waistband of his trousers, parting the zip as she pushed her hand inside. 

He wasn’t wearing pants. He made a low, guttural sound as she closed her hand around him. He was hard and wide and longer than she’d ever been with before, a very prominent veins pulsed beneath her fingertips. 

“Does this meet your approval, Granger?” he asked. 

“Hermione.” She whispered but couldn’t take her eyes off his abs. Draco Malfoy had abs. “If this is going to happen, it’s Hermione.” 

He tilted her face to meet his eyes and she was bowled over by the emotion in them. Usually, all she saw in his expression was either him being intolerably smug or outright irritated by everyone around him - especially her - but he looked lost. His eyes were wide, the silver edge to the blown pupils glittered as an awed smile grew across his face. 

“Draco, then.” He whispered, then lower, “you’ll call me Draco.” 

It was a command and everything about her body tightened at it, including her hand which was still wrapped around his cock. He whined, low and intense. “You’re sure?” 

She laughed, “So fucking sure, Draco.” 

He smirked before whirling her until she fell back against the bed and he stood above her between her thighs. He rubbed his obvious erection through his undone trousers before taking them off entirely and crawling over her body. The tip of him brushed against her, and she arched up just a tiny bit. He leaned down and kissed her, and with a flicker, the lights in the room came on. 

“Sorry, accidental.” He smiled and breathed across the skin above her breasts. The delicious stretch of him inside her made her brain stop for just a second before she realised that apparently the feeling of entering her had caused him to perform accidental magic and she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her. 

The dark had been fun, but seeing him, his lean, muscled body tense above her’s, his dark eyes and unapologetically egotistical grin made her feel every stage of her arousal all over again. In mere seconds, her body was on fire. She squirmed impatiently under him and brought her knees up around his waist to try and urge him deeper. When he didn’t move, she cried out, “please!” 

“Oh no Granger,” he murmured against her ear, “we’re going to have to come up with a way to keep you quiet.

“Please, Draco.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, she didn’t know how to think or speak or breathe anymore. 

“Do you think you can be quiet or do I have to help you?” he whispered. There was a delicious glitter of something predatory in his gaze that thrilled her to her toes. 

“Please.” She gave one final soft sob of denied pleasure. 

Gently, he covered her mouth with his hand, his thumb stroking his chin. “I will take care of you.” He entered her so slowly, she wanted to weep. She could feel every pulse of his cock inside her, and it was amazing, but she needed more. He smiled down at her. “I promise I’ll take care of everything else, just let go.” 

His pace was maddening. She wanted him to speed up, to slam the bed against the floor so hard he would have to have the floorboards replaced. But if he did, it wouldn’t feel like  _ this.  _ Hand over her mouth or not, she wasn’t sure she could keep quiet, even for the sake of obeying him. 

“Please, please please,” she begged, tipping her pelvis to grind her clit against his hard length. 

“Please, what?” He asked, still stroking in and out in an unhurried rhythm. 

“Please make me come.” She reached between them to touch herself and she heard the whizzing sound of something travelling through the air. He pushed his wand into her hand and she gasped at the feeling of it allowing her control over something so personal to him. He whispered  _ vibrare  _ and shifted onto his knees to give her more room. 

“Make yourself come. But don’t stop at one. Keep going.” 

She cringed at the thought of going past one, considering how sensitive she already was from her orgasm in her office but this was the first sex she was having after a marriage of disappointing sex and she was a fucking Gryffindor - she would give this a try. 

When the vibration hit her, her whole body bucked. The pressure from his cock against her g-spot was perfect in this position. She writhed as he kept up the slow heavenly strokes. When she came, it was with a loud whine that could have been his name but she couldn’t hear herself over the pulse in her ears. Her calves stung from the nerves trapped in her strained muscles. 

He wrapped one arm around her back, half lifting her, and groaned. “Remember, you’re not stopping.” 

She couldn’t imagine the sounds she made were particularly sexy. She heard undignified squeaks escape her multiple times, but she kept his vibrating wand right where he wanted it, hanging helplessly against his arm like a marionette. Her orgasm stretched right into another, and she made a strangled moan of disbelief as she pulsed around him. 

“Do you like it from behind?” He asked, starting to build to a faster pace. At that moment, Hermione couldn’t think of something she wouldn’t like. 

“Mhm,” she whimpered in between panting and scrambling to her hands and knees across the bed.

He was inside her again so fast that she gasped in surprise. 

He stopped immediately. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

Her heart beat a little faster at the soft concern in his voice. “No, keep going.” She rocked her knees impatiently. 

After a few deep thrusts, he groaned, “I’m not going to last much longer, do you still have my wand?” 

She heard it buzzing somewhere on top of the bed covers and felt around for it. She tried to maneuver it into position but it was a little tricky, bracing her weight on one hand. He grabbed it out of her hand and reached beneath them to press it to her. 

“I want to time this just right, alright Hermione?” He panted. How could he still sound this smug, like he was completely in control? Why did she fucking love it? “Tell me when you’re getting close.” 

“I’m already close,” she moaned, equally irritated by him and thrilled to her very core. She dug her fingers into the bedspread beneath her and held on for dear life. Her body tightened around him; she could feel the delicate flutters of her muscles up and down his length. “Oh yes, I’m—” 

He sped up, letting loose into a rhythm she could feel in every part of her body. She felt the culmination of a thousand arguments they’d had in each other’s offices, the hours of overtime they’d worked together to avoid their failing marriages. She could feel him letting go in a way that she never thought this man was capable of doing and her body relaxing in a way she’d never expected to be able to do. She may not love the man with a bruising grip of her hips, but the feeling of relief that hit her when he’d first kissed her blossomed against her skin like she was under a waterfall. This is what her life could become, she could have this. 

He stilled in her, and uttered a long groan while she screamed and bucked her hips. The throb of his release prolonged hers, the feeling of him spilling inside of her and their combined juices dripping from her cunt and down her thighs. She couldn’t hold herself up anymore and she fell to the bed, forcing him to withdraw with a wince. 

Her muscles already hurt like she’d been through something brutal. Her throat and mouth were dry from all the screaming and gasping for breath. Every inch of her skin buzzed with magic and exhaustion but she’d never felt so exhilarated, relaxed, and stress-free in her entire life. 

Draco rolled off her, wiping sweat from his forehead, he groaned, “That was —” He made his eyes go wide and a big stupid smile swept across his face. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, with a kiss to the ball of her shoulder. 

“Hmm?” she whispered. He returned with two glasses of water that he placed on the dark wood bedside table, and gently maneuvered her so that she was laying with him against the headboard of what she now realised was a canopied four-poster bed. All the bedclothes were deep blues and the canopy a jewel tone green. 

Draco stroked unintelligible patterns into the skin of her back as he held her. Neither of them had spoken in such a long time that she felt she couldn’t be the first to bring up that she would need to leave. 

“I would like to take you to dinner.” He whispered into the curls on the crown of her head. 

The smile that broke out across her face was so wide that she felt his skin move beneath her lips. 

“I’d like that.” She replied, tipping her head back to look him in the eye. 

She could see the smug, slightly cold exterior of his walls rebuilding but he smiled at her softly. “Monday, your office.” 


End file.
